


Wishful Drinking

by margotmuses



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, Implied Henkub, M/M, Suggestive Themes, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29203650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margotmuses/pseuds/margotmuses
Summary: Lucas despises Bobby McKenzie....Or does he?
Relationships: Lucas Koh/Bobby McKenzie
Comments: 28
Kudos: 31





	Wishful Drinking

**Author's Note:**

> Monthly prompt competition from r/LITGFanFiction on Reddit.

_ Oh, I'm in trouble now _

_ Come kiss me black and blue _

_ Might last another round _

_ But I'm bound to fall for you _

He’s sick of it. He’s so fucking sick of it. That smug grin and those bedroom eyes and the way his freckles dance under the club lights. It happens every time, and Lucas is so ridiculously sick of it.

They might have been friends once. In days gone by. When they both roughed about in the dirt under the swing-set or hid from their parents in the tunnelled slide. Not wanting to leave each other because they were having too much fun. Before they grew up and things went south. Like, really south. 

Lucas sips his double whisky in the booth where his friends have left him, seething at the sight of the man with his breath caressing the ear of the pretty girl in the tight black dress. Very nice curves. If  _ he _ hadn’t got there first, Lucas might have had a shot.

But, as it always seems these days, he doesn’t.

The girl in the dress turns to glance at Lucas, and as an attempt to conceal his shock he smoulders at her. She doesn’t seem impressed, however, and turns back to the man holding her close. He whispers something in her ear and she laughs. Before he even realises it, Lucas is at the bottom of his drink, staring at the undulations of the embossed glass, reflecting in the changing colours of the club lights. He needs a refill. 

He sighs his way over to the bar, regretting even coming out. If only Henrik wasn’t so damn convincing. But, as much as he may huff and puff, Lucas would do anything for the bloke. Especially help him have a night out to sorrow his way through a nasty break-up. What he hadn’t bargained on—but probably should have, considering this is the only club in the local area this  _ hadn’t _ happened at yet—was bumping into his ex-friend. The one he hates with a passion. With the stupid grin and the dimples and the freckles and a penchant for pretty things. The one he can practically feel sidling up to him, and he suppresses a groan.

“Feeling good, Lukey?” he mocks. “Nice and  _ alone _ today?” His voice is smooth from Lucas’ side, vibrations disarmingly warm and metallic like an iron running over the creases in Lucas’ forehead. Making the hairs on his neck stand on end, as it often does. 

“At least I’m not in a room with everyone I’ve ever screwed.”

“Would be a small room.”

“Don’t shame me,” he says, his voice low and husky.

“You did it first.”

“You’re truly insufferable.”

“Touché.”

The two men stand beside each other silently for a moment, both internally seething. 

The thing is, they’d ended up just drifting apart when it came to secondary school. Lucas had gone his way to the local private, and Bobby to the grammar. The schools were rivals to an extent, which didn’t help things. Stupid fights at the local park and rumours and even the odd childish picket line at the entrance. And somewhere in that time—where their friendship became a distant memory and they’d melded into new and different people—they ended up falling for the same girl. Now, they both knew somewhere internally that it was her fault to string them both along, but it was, is, so much  _ easier _ to hate the other man. The one who’d been pitted as a rival. Probably made worse by the fact neither of them succeeded in their attempts to woo her. So since then, about ten good years ago, they’d just hated each other. Every time Lucas got dragged to the club by Henrik, Bobby was always there finding someone new to chat up. And it just struck a  _ nerve _ with Lucas. Probably because that had been one of the reasons he now hates the man, but every time he has to watch Bobby McKenzie whisper in a new fling’s ear, he feels like he’s actually got smoke coming from his own ears. 

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, and Lucas orders another whisky. 

She turns to Bobby, who says, “Three jägerbombs, please!” and Lucas rolls his eyes heavily at the drink choice. 

“Problem with fun?” Bobby goads.

“Problem with you.”

“Hey, excuse me!” Bobby calls the bartender back, who nods and returns. “Can you make that six jägerbombs, please? This one needs help getting the stick out of his ass.”

The bartender nods and makes the drinks in front of them. In the waiting, Lucas steals a glance at Bobby, surprised to find the other man’s gaze fixed upon him, smug smirk spreading his plump lips out. It’s the face of a man who’s keeping something concealed. Lucas does his best to stare him down, dark eyes boring through him, waiting to make him back down. Bobby doesn’t. The sparkle in his eyes almost makes Lucas consider turning away a few times, but he doesn’t want to. He  _ needs _ to intimidate him. Just needs to pour his loathing into the other man.

Seven glasses are placed in front of them, and Bobby swipes a card over the reader. When Bobby takes his three drinks, he leaves Lucas with a parting, “Hope it burns as it goes down.”

Lucas sighs once more, but downs the drinks all the same. What? They’re free. There’s nothing a wealthy person enjoys more than something that’s free. He doesn’t admit to himself that they  _ do _ burn.

—-

Later, Lucas is dragged onto the dance floor by Henrik and some guy he’s been dancing with for a while now; buff and kind of crazy-eyed, but Henrik seems happy and that’s all that matters. When Michelin Man whispers something in Henrik’s ear and the latter shoots Lucas a questioning look, of course he nods encouragingly and holds his phone up to indicate he’d be okay. He can just call an Uber once he’s sure Henrik’s safe. 

Hen beams and says something back to Michelin Man before coming towards Lucas and wrapping him in a bear hug.

“Thanks brother, you’re the best.”

“Just stay in contact, okay?”

“Of course.”

So Henrik leaves, and Lucas is stood in the midst of grinding and dry-humping and sweaty bodies and it’s all just a little much. As he tries to squeeze his way out of the crowd, he gets stuck between two couples. He curses the gods when he notices one of them contains Bobby. 

But… where he’s stood… Bobby has his back to him. Not yet noticed that Lucas is standing behind him, wedged against someone else. Of course he could just squeeze past and leave it, but he has a better idea.

He leans in behind Bobby, just hovering by his ear.

“She’s cute. I bet I can get her first,” he says in a low voice, making sure that he’s close, that Bobby can feel the way his voice sends vibrations over his ear, his hand resting gently on his shoulder.

Bobby jumps just a little, but enough for Lucas to notice and chuckle at. The girl who’s dancing on him is doing quite a number, so much so that he probably can’t turn around right now. So he just turns his head, and his face is close to Lucas’ own. 

“She’s already on my dick, mate. I think you’re too late,” he retorts, holding eye contact with Lucas. Sure, it’s a little weird to be having a conversation like this. Scratch that, a lot weird. 

The girl in the dress reaches a hand back, probably expecting to find Bobby’s neck, but latching onto Lucas’ instead. As soon as she starts pulling at it and he realises his dick is pressed against Bobby’s ass, he regrets the whole thing. Cursing under his breath, Lucas slides from her grip and makes his way out of the depth of people. He swears he can hear Bobby’s infuriating chuckle all the way out into the VIP smoking area. Lucky for him, not many VIPs are smokers (including him), so he’s out here by himself. 

He breathes in the cool night air, letting it hit the patches of clammy sweat over his body, cooling the redness of his face. Washing out the cloud of drunken thoughts the dim lighting seems to validate.

So, Lucas may be the last one to admit this, but his jeans may have grown… a little tight. He tells himself it’s just the alcohol and the way that girl grabbed him. Nothing to do with his arch-enemy’s ass.

Fuck, Bobby is so frustrating. Everything that comes out of his mouth makes Lucas want to hit something. He’s smug and he thinks he’s funny and he gets his way and everything else. He’s never been good at taking responsibility, laughing off the serious moments, and that drives Lucas insane. The fucking cheek he has drives Lucas absolutely mad. Like he knows something no one else does, he’ll taunt with the promise of a secret but never tell.

So imagine Lucas’ surprise when the door swings open, the cacophony from the club floating through for just a moment, and a lithe, slightly shorter, man walks through. Bobby. In his floral silk button-up, undone at the top so that Lucas can see a large chunk of chest, and tight black jeans hugging every shape of him. The shirt billows around him, sweat shining on his freckled pecs. Ugh, why does he have to be attractive? Makes him all the more annoying.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Lucas asks, the annoyance evident in his voice.

“You didn’t follow through. I was disappointed,” Bobby tuts, coming over to lean on the high-fenced railing. “I thought I was going to be able to beat you in competition again.”

“I would barely have to try. It would be embarrassing for you.”

“Is that so?” He sidles closer, so the two men can study each detail on the others’ face right now if they want to. Lucas definitely isn’t watching how each freckle kisses a different patch of his warm brown skin. Or his golden eyes sparkling as he smirks infuriatingly.

Lucas shoots an eyebrow raise back at him, lips spreading into what he believes is a triumphant, taunting, grin. “You already know it is.”

Bobby chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You definitely have high assumptions of yourself.”

“I’m just honest,” he shrugs, slipping his fingers through the railing, just by Bobby’s head. “But hey, I gave up, where did she go?” Lucas is grateful in this moment that he stands a few inches taller than Bobby, being able to lean over him in a commanding way. He likes having the upper hand with Bobby, because Bobby makes a point of showing he’s in control.

“It became significantly less fun knowing I couldn’t fight you for it.”

“You always think you’ll fucking win everything,” Lucas scoffs. “Newsflash, mate! You never have!”

Bobby runs his tongue across the inside of his cheek. It’s like a bull revving up to charge at the red sheet Lucas is holding out. Like he’s moistening his mouth to say harsh words in a soft tongue.

“Wait a minute,” Lucas looks around the small outside area. “How did you even get up here? You’re not VIP.”

“I’m very important, thank you very much.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he groans.

“I had to show the bouncer my boobs.”

“What?” Lucas says disparagingly.

“I’m joking!” Bobby says a little louder, still a smile on his face but it’s a bit frustrated. “I just told him I’m your mate and you needed me. Not sure how he believed me. Guess I’ve got a trustable face.”

“You’re not my fucking mate. And I don’t need you.”

“Obviously not.”

“So why did you come out here? I wanted to be alone.”

Bobby hangs his head a moment, and if Lucas wasn’t a little drunk, he might imagine he looks bashful. Thinking something through. He sighs, looking right into Lucas’ face as though considering what to say. 

“Well, I think you’re a tosser.”

“Great. Same,” Lucas interrupts.

“But I sort of want to see if we can compete.”

“At what?  _ For _ what?”

Bobby starts to say something, then his lip curls up in a smug grin. “You choose, big boy.”

The way he says that sends a shiver down Lucas' spine, and he knows this will get difficult. The challenge of Bobby smirking, puffing up his chest, makes Lucas want to win, indeed. This man knows how to taunt him. And unfortunately, he’s very good at it. He curses himself for getting riled up, but he already knows he won’t back down from the challenge. Lucas plays to win.

“Fine. I’ll be back,” he sighs, going to leave. But he’s stopped in his tracks.

“Let me bum a smoke, first,” Bobby calls, grabbing onto Lucas’s wrist. It tingles at the touch, cold and electric. They don’t tend to make much contact when they usually see each other, so this is very different. New. Odd. Off-putting? ...Exciting? No, just strange.

“You don’t smoke,” he mutters, refusing to look him in the eye while they’re touching.

“No, wondered if you’d developed a habit.”

“Could’ve just asked.”

“Nah.”

He shakes his head and wrenches his wrist from Bobby’s touch, the lack of contact obvious almost immediately. 

With a deep breath, Lucas heads back inside, straight to the bar. He orders ten jägerbombs and six pints, already regretting this ridiculous idea.  _ But he has to win.  _

When they’d been friends, it was Bobby’s vivacity and spunk that Lucas had liked about him so much. Now, those same qualities seem to be the root of everything that bugs him. Tonight… something strange is in the air. Something making him less frustrated at Bobby, and as a result more frustrated that he isn’t feeling that way. 

Something causing him to watch how Bobby had been dancing intently, his eyes sparkling and crinkling as he grinned. Something causing him to drink in his soft skin and his perfect hair and… ugh. 

He hasn’t got time to be annoyed again, because the bartender is sliding over the tray.

So he heads back to the terrace smoking area, tray of drinks in hand. The bouncer barely even blinks as he passes, and Lucas isn’t surprised that Bobby got through easily earlier.

When the cool air hits him again, Lucas is grounded again and finds his eyes immediately falling on Bobby. Not that there’s much else out here, but still.

Bobby smirks as he appraises the contents of Lucas’ hands. “Oh? A drinking contest? I could drink you under the table, easy.” He licks his tongue over his bottom lip, and Lucas narrows his eyes.

_ What the fuck are we even competing for? _

“What does the winner get?” Lucas straightens his head out, placing the tray on a wobbly metal table, the kind they put outside the chip van for condiments, with the odd little scratched-in circles.

“I think it should depend. We’re pretty different, so I reckon we’ll want different things.” 

“What do you want?” he asks, quieter than anticipated, sizing up Bobby’s expression as he starts to answer. For a moment, Lucas imagines Bobby looks as he had before, somewhat contemplative, even bashful. A look Lucas doesn’t know what to make of. But soon enough, he’s back to that smug grin.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked.”

“You’ll find out when I win,” he winks, and it disarms Lucas so much he has to turn his attention back to the drinks.

He picks up a jäger and slides one to Bobby.

“Eat shit,” he says, eliciting a laugh from Bobby.

“Touché.” They both lift their glasses, and down them almost immediately. It’s a rush from the jägers’ to the beers and swallowing down the mixtures of wheaty and liquorice flavoured alcohol, some stinging the back of his throat, and some coating it thickly and warmly. He doesn’t even register Bobby as he throws back the various drinks. 

So when he slams down his last beer, the table wobbling obnoxiously, he’s pleased to see Bobby still catching the last dregs of his.

“I won!” Lucas grins triumphantly, holding up his empty glass.

“You cheated,” the other man mocks, and it’s halfway between jealous and playful.

“I didn’t, what the fuck? We did the exact same thing.”

“Dunno. Just felt like you cheated.”

And Lucas isn’t sure why that gets him so riled up, but it does. He plays to win, after all.

“You’re a fucking prick,” he growls as he grabs Bobby’s collar and presses him back into the brickwork of the club. 

Bobby just quirks an eyebrow. When his lips flirt up in a smug half-smile, and his eyes drop not-so-subtlety to Lucas’ lips, the latter swallows hard. It’s difficult to ignore the gentle drumming in his stomach, the dry feeling in his throat, or the sweat prickling the back of his neck. He knows, in his head, what this means. His fingertips under the other man’s collar but grazing at the skin beneath; hyper-vigilant. His own eyes drop, watching as Bobby pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, the half-smile never leaving his face.

Their breath clouds together in the cold air between them, taunting, waiting.

And Lucas makes his move. Pulls Bobby to him by the collar, letting their lips join and tangle.

As soon as he’s kissing Bobby, it’s like everything slips into place. Fuck. He’d initially kind of hate-kissed him (he’s hot? Can anyone blame him?) but now that it’s happening he’s… rather enjoying himself. Soft and alcoholic and passionate due to years of mixed feelings.

Bobby’s arms slip up Lucas’ back, one coming all the way up to thread through his hair. Lucas pulls away, staring at Bobby steely-eyed.

“Don’t fucking touch my hair,” he growls.

Bobby quirks a lip, and stuffs his hand back into Lucas’ moussed mass, pulling them back together. He sighs, but lets it happen. He doesn’t have to admit out loud that he kind of likes it, right?

When they finally manage to take their hands off one another for a moment, and slip out of the club seamlessly with their hands entwined the whole time, Lucas breathes a sigh of relief. It feels pretty good not to hate the guy  _ for no real reason. _

“So, is this what you get for winning?” Bobby asks as they stand in the cold waiting for their ride.

Lucas shrugs. “It’ll do.” A small smile plays on his lips, returned by Bobby.

They take a taxi back to Lucas’ (he’s got the penthouse, why the hell would they head back to Bobby’s place over a bakery?), and are on each other almost as soon as they’re through the door.

Bobby’s kissing is driving him crazy, and Lucas isn’t sure he can take much more.

“I need you,” Lucas says breathlessly.

“Oh? You’ve changed your tune.” 

Lucas recalls telling the man he didn’t need him just hours before. Oops.

“Fuck off. If I say you’re not so bad once will you shut the fuck up?”

“Never.”

“Whatever. Deal.”

Lucas goes back to kissing Bobby, until he’s hit by a thought and pulls away again.

“Hold on. What would you have wanted if you’d won?” Lucas asks.

Bobby smirks. “I lied, mate. Kinda figured we’d want the same thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from Claudia - FINNEAS
> 
> A big thanks to Sarah and MK, for reading over it and the inspiration. MK is the blueprint for Bobcas so please check out their fic Rude Awakenings!!


End file.
